


In The Name of Love, In Your Name

by jetblacklilac



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Modern AU, basically everything i want to happen, fluffiest fluff, sansa and jaime brotp IS WHAT WE DESERVE, sansa is THE wingman jaime needs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-07-02 19:15:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15802869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetblacklilac/pseuds/jetblacklilac
Summary: Sansa Stark has never been subtle about love. Everyone knows this, even Brienne.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hannahlilyy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahlilyy/gifts).



> i hope this is alright, kudos and comments are genuinely appreciated. oof i dedicate this fic to my boo, blondie !!! she gave me the inspiration for this fic

**i. _In which Jon actually knows something_**

Jon has only entered the kitchen when someone hands him a mug of coffee. With sleep still in his eyes, he manages a small smile. “Mornin’, love.” He murmurs as his girlfriend presses a kiss on his cheek. With his free hand, he brings her closer so he can rest his chin on her shoulder, careful for the coffee to be distant from them. He likes the rose water scent always present on her skin. It reminded him of how she tasted last night.

 

Sansa giggles when Jon pressed kisses on the curve of her neck, knowing how ticklish she is. “I can’t stay long!” She says but snuggles closer, nuzzling her nose into his clothed shoulder.

 

“Where you running of to?’ Jon questions, taking a step back, taking a sip from the mug and relishing the precise flavour he seeks in coffee. Truly, this woman knows everything about him, more so than himself.

She grins brightly. “Oh, I’m helping Jaime for his little surprise. Don’t worry I’ll be back before lunch. Well hopefully the chances of him freaking out are reduced now.” She informs him, lapping her hand on his and drinks from the same mug.

 

Any naïve person would assume Jon felt a tinge of green in his blood in hearing this. That he’s jealous of how his long term girlfriend is spending a lovely Saturday afternoon with another man. But Jon, he merely shrugs and understands. It’s been almost two months since the quest for the proposal has begun.

 

The dark haired man scoffed. “Lannisters are so dramatic.” He remarked, walking to the kitchen island. There was a plate of his favourite breakfast. He silently thanked the gods for her good mood. He sat on the counter, and slices the bacon in tinnier bits.

 

“How’d you separate the blondes? Aren’t they always doing extreme sports as dates or watching footy matches.” He wonders because of its founded truth. Sansa would show him the posts of her dear friends in ridiculous situations and most of them are life and death for him. He’s content that Sansa adores the romantic comedy type of dates. He’s happy with that too, thank you very much.

 

The woman he loves is intelligent as she is stunning. She smiles a smile that told him she thought of this more thoroughly than he assumed. “I egged on Arya to spar with Brienne. My little sister loves a challenge.” She answers, sitting across him.

 

Jon arches a brow. “Isn’t Brienne, oh I don’t know, _two feet_ taller than Arya?” He pointed out in mild concern.

 

The enthralling cobalt eyes rolled at his question. She walks so she stands beside him and drops a kiss on the top of his head. “That’s what spurned her to challenge our tall friend.” She checks her watch and groans. “Baby, I really have to go. Enjoy the day. I love you so much.” She whispers against his cheek.

“Have a nice day…” Jon had intended to say but the door closes and he continues to devour the delectable bacon, warm pancakes, and brilliantly soft scrambled eggs. He noticed a little booklet dangling at the edge of the table and he fetches it.

A breath is caught in his throat when he sees it‘s a comprehensive list of rings; its style, design, carat amount. He knows its for Jaime but a little worm whispered in his mind, a suspicion, a hope, that maybe she left it here on purpose. They’ve been dating near a decade now (Sansa’s friends have been dating not as much as them but by the gods, anyone can see they’re all smitten.) and there has been a yearn cultivating in his chest.

 

_Sansa Stark has never been subtle in the name of love._

 

“Oh, will you be reading that?”

 

Jon looks up to see Sansa positively beaming, bouncing on the balls of her feet. He gives her a crooked smile. “No darling, not really, here.” He says and hands it to her. He sees the fleeting disappointment in her eyes but she’s quick to hide it. “When, and I say when because it’s only a matter of time, I’ll bend my knee only to you, I’ll give you my mother’s ring.” He casually informs her like they’re talking of the weather.

 

His girlfriend squeals and hugs him tight. “And some people have the audacity to say you’re not a romantic. My sweet love, I’ll await the sweetest surprise ever.” Sansa whispers on the skin of his cheek. She then presses a thousand pecks on his lips before she walks out of the loft, a bounce in each step and so radiant it hurt to stare at her for too long.

 

“Good luck Jaime.” He snickers to no one in particular.

 

**ii. _In which a lion turns as meek as a lamb_**

 

“You’re late.”

 

“Maybe you were just too early, hm? Did you sleep by this street as you waited for your appointment?”

 

The older blonde rolled his eyes. They both stood in front of the jewellery store and he opened the door for her. The displays of various luxuries in forms of glinting necklaces, rings, and much more; the tables formed a wide space for customers to roam around and investigate for their desired item.

 

A receptionist approached them, dressed in a suit. “May I be of assistance?” He questions.

 

Sansa smiles a ready and cordial one and much more approachable than Jaime’s awkward stance and customary scowl. “Yes, we have an appointment with Varys?” She informs. Without a second of delay, they were led to the utmost back of the exclusive shop until the noises of inquiries from the customers have faded.

 

“I’ve heard of this Varys. What if Tyrion gave me his name because he’s really an axe murderer?” Jaime murmured under his breath to his companion.

 

She glanced at him with an arched brow and a ghosting amused smile. “At least this time it’s only paranoia, the last time we were near a shop of rings you nearly got run over by a bloody truck.” She mentally tucked this anecdote for the reception. She could almost picture Brienne’s pink blush reaction and Jaime glowering at her as he sips his wine.

 

“Yeah well you told me Brienne would’ve loved that ring.”

 

“And naturally your impulses urged to fling yourself against a moving truck.” The redhead teases.

Jaime makes a move to reply with equal sarcasm but the double oaken doors are opened and they’re ushered inside. The walls are covered in maroon velvet, chairs are of dark mahogany, the floor glistening in maple shine.

 

There, sitting behind a large desk, is a fat bald man, smiling sweetly. His suit is intricate in golden design, distracting bright colours and sparkles under the lights. “Please sit.” He said in his silvery voice, a tongue could be silver as well seeing as how everyone seems to trust him in any matter under the sun. “Before I begin, I should need a little background about the love birds before I recommended my advice and your salvation.”

 

She snorted and Jaime chuckled at the assumption. “Sir, I am _not_ his girlfriend! I’m his friend here to help him finally propose to my girl Brienne.” Sansa rectifies.

 

Surprisingly, Varys giggles in returned amusement. “Oh I know Miss Stark, you’re much happier with Jon to bother with anyone else.” He slides his gaze to the blonde who is rapidly blanching, his complexion is one winter would envy. “I’d want to hear from the great Jaime Lannister the description of his beloved Brienne Tarth.”

 

Jaime stutters out his girlfriend’s name over fifty times before he clamps his mouth down and wipes a hand on his forehead, acutely aware of how the air conditioned breeze skims on his heated skin. He tugs on the lapel of his cedar coat and curses. He’s never been the one to ardently declare his love in ways that could put the entire category of romance films to shame. “She, uh, well she’s tall and blonde but her hair is lighter than mine. If the sun hits it in the right angle, it’s really pretty and her eyes are so blue I don’t think any existing shade of blue can _precisely_  do justice-“

 

Varys held one hand up, eyes sparkling. “Mister Lannister I appreciate your lovesick babble but what I mean to say is her personality, how you met her, what _you_ think of her so we might have a sense of the ring you want. After all, the engagement ring is essentially how you express your love for her, what you think she is with the little details of the band.” The strange man explained with a subtle taunt of something Jaime wasn’t quick to understand.

 

“I wonder how Jon would describe me….” Sansa briefly ponders aloud then shaking her head. “I set them up because I freaking know they’d be an amazing couple but my gods I underestimated myself! Go on, Jaime, reminisce about the first date with her.” She gently urged and patted his knee.

 

Jaime inwardly cursed but nodded anyways. “I got an exclusive reservation in a restaurant Sansa told me reminds Brienne of her hometown. And when I finally met her and conversed with her, I was so sure this whole thing was a mistake because she was everything I wanted in a woman. She wore that dazzling gold dress, like liquid gold on her alabaster skin. And I think I fell in love with her in that night.”  When he realized the other occupants in the room stared at him in mixes of awe and softness, he groaned and shifted in his seat.

 

“It’s been months since Sansa and I started to find a ring but I can’t find anything as perfect as I want it to be. I want the ring to look as sweet as she is in the inside. I want the ring to shine and glitter like how her face does the same when she talks about the things she loves, how her blue eyes are so fucking beautiful when she watches the movies she loves for the hundredth time. I want the ring wrapped in gold, blue, silver, coated in delicate elegance, and everything else I can’t think of right now.” He said this all in one breathe, heat rising high on his cheeks and he stares at the wall behind an impressed Varys.

 

“Wow you don’t ask for much huh?” Sansa muttered with a smirk. She laughs when Jaime, the well-known smartass can’t retort a scathing sarcastic remark. She pats Jaime’s shoulder and faces Varys. “Lannisters don’t ask more than what they think they should have.”

 

“In anyone else’s perspective, it’s the entire world and more.” Varys calmly agrees. He doesn’t seem to be daunted by the monumental task set on his shoulders. That he should execute the dream of one of the wealthiest men in Westeros and _not_ disappoint him. “I have a batch of such things you ask for. Give me a moment to retrieve them.” He stood up from his currant luxurious chair and shuffled about in his designer slippers. To his left was a looming carved wooden shelf, he opened the drawers and completely took it off the wardrobe, and he was humming as he did so. He laid it on the table before the two friends.

 

Sansa leaned forward, interest evident as her eyes roamed the rings, each more extravagant than the last. “By the gods these are all brilliant!” She exclaimed in delight. She patted Jaime’s arm and brought him closer. “Take your time to choose because I think we hit the jackpot.”

 

His eyes followed through each item, taking in the little details and how they mainly consist of sapphires and diamonds. There weren’t a lot, almost twenty and they’re almost all identical at first glance. But then, _then_ Jaime stops when he spotted the upper right ring and his mouth curls; he slowly took it out of its box and inspected it.

 

“I-that’s so her…” Sansa whispered, her voice thick with emotions that she sniffled.

 

_It truly is._

 

The band is smooth and gleaming gold, bright like Brienne’s dress on their first date, the sets of diamonds and sapphires winked under the fluorescent lights and golden vines wove through them and around the rings making it impossibly perfect, _so_ Brienne. He can already see it on her finger, subtle but it catches everyone’s attention anyways; like how she is, he muses, so effortless, the brightness within her attracts even the damned like him.

 

“I’ll take this.” He announces, his voice light, throat tight as he struggled to say more, to declare his love for Brienne again, for something more than those three words but he’s always been a little slow with words.

 

Varys smiled once more, as though he saw this coming. “Of course, Mister Lannister, it’s a pleasure working with you.” He says in his feather light voice.

 

Sansa sighs. “Oh dear, I’m so excited for you two! Finally, I can help Brienne with a wedding she’d never thought she’d have before meeting you!” The redhead gasps, clutching his arm. “Now that we have the ring, _how_ will you propose?”

 

Jaime has been told he’s a brilliant strategist. His plans are reckless at times but the results are more than satisfying. Critics have praised him for his prowess, at how skilled he is at getting the results that he needed with a decisive action plan.

But this? He’s as clueless as a newborn baby. “Ah fuck.”

 

**_iii._                 _In which, Brienne finds the courage to dream_**

 

It was brunch with her friends; an event Brienne has always looked forward once a month. The event is always hosted at a nifty and simply restaurant in Wintertown. She’s seated next to Jon, the dark haired man arguing with Jaime about a thing she isn’t listening to. Arya is seated on her left, talking with Gendry, a nice lad rather shy but is talkative only to the little brunette. Sansa and Jaime sat across of her as they talked in hushed tones.

 

The food was warm, flavourful and everyone was enjoying themselves and the company they’re in at the moment, a sweet moment with life-long friends.

 

“That is pure and utter _shite!_ ” Arya exclaimed, her spoon waving about in the air then she glowered at Jaime. “You dare insult my hometown team in _my_ presence? You want your ass handed to you?” She snarled with a threat her friends know she’d execute. Though anyone can see how Jaime towers over her, her friends, boyfriend, and sister would greatly sing songs of her strength and agility. None laughed at her strength.

 

Jaime rolled his eyes. “You Starks are so bloody theatrical. Just _once_ can I state my opinion without any of you wanting to throw me against a wall and strangle me?” He whines, his fork picking at the tiny hill of peas and potatoes on his plate.

 

Gendry snorted. “You pick at wolves, Jaime. Honestly, haven’t you learned a thing or two by now?” He patted Arya’s hand. “You going to eat that?” He asked his girlfriend, pointing at the untouched meat pie.

 

“Don’t be any dumber, Jaime. And love of course I will.”

 

Brienne knows the title for “Most Oblivious Person” title goes to Jon. For gods’ sake it took him almost all of college to even know how Sansa is so in love with him and has been since middle school.

 

And she might be second to him but now, she notices an odd occurring thing. Sansa’s cobalt eyes kept on glancing at her direction and when she does, there’s a brief fragility in them. Like a blue look with ripples on its surface, worrying the calmness in them.

 

“Jon,” Brienne softly calls.

 

Jon has his mouth full of the roasted chicken and he has the sense of manner to swallow his food before replying. “Yeah, Bri?” He calls her the same nickname Sansa does.

 

“Did you and Sansa fight?” The blonde genuinely wonders.

 

The dark haired man spluttered when he drank his iced tea. He waved away Sansa’s concern so she immerses herself back in the conversation of Gendry, Arya, and Jaime. “Why would you think that?”

 

“Well she looks like she’s been crying each time she looks at us…..” Brienne speculated. “Tell me and maybe I can help you.” She genuinely offered and yes maybe they’re both horribly inept in relationships and emotional topic. But two negatives make a positive right? Yeah, they aren’t good at math either.

 

“Aren’t you curious as to why our significant others have been spending a weirdly amount of time together?” Jon innocently inquires. “Sure they’re friends and all but they’ve been hanging out more often than not.” He takes a sip of his iced tea and raises a brow, expecting her to comprehend his subtle answer.

 

Brienne blinks. She knows they won’t cheat, too wounded from the past to even ponder on inflicting that reckless injury on their beloved. She briefly studies Sansa’s odd behaviour lately, at how she squeals when they passed by a flower shop, sending her a million pictures of locations that are in the section of “honeymoon” in Pinterest, how Sansa has been fondly talking about wedding themed rom coms more than usual.

 

Sansa has never been subtle about love.

 

She gapes. “Is-are they planning something overtly emotional or romantic?” She says in a hushed tone, loudly in in disbelief.

 

Jon’s smile is wolfish. “I wouldn’t say planning. I’d say they have one and they’re finding the perfect opportunity to execute it. Oh look, the lemon cakes are here! Sansa, darling, don’t finish it all!” He teases and the redhead rolls her eyes but a blush taints her cheeks.

 

_When will Jaime propose?_

 

The question, whispered in an excited and expectant voice, startled her so. All her life, she didn’t dare ponder on such a heavenly prospect, finding it a far-fetched fantasy her arms would ache in trying to grasp tighter in her hands. But Jaime came swaggering in her life like a knight in all his golden armour, arrogant like a season soldier with a right to do so, with a wit that is sharp as any sword.

 

She never dared to hope, to let these glitters blind her from the harsh and grey reality she’s learned to live with. How can one hope and hope until nothing it’s all they have?

 

But with Jaime, she glances at him, chewing on the lemon cakes and laughing at Gendry’s story of his bartending, and suddenly liquid happiness fills her veins. It’s so close now, so _real_ it frightens her for a moment.

 

The future she can picture for them overcomes the hesitance of such a fragile yet invaluable thing. To have Jaime for the rest of her life is a temptation she has never known she wanted in that moment, in the midst of her friends.

 

If her younger self would see her now, she’d think she was insane to want such a thing, that it’s a mere fantasy, a bubble dangling from a string that can’t be held for so long. And maybe not but isn’t it courageous, in a sense, to fight for love with him by her side?

 

**iv. _In which love dictates one’s action_**

It was movie night in the shared apartment of Jaime and Brienne.

 

They usually spend the night watching action and sci-fi films. Cuddling together on the large beige sofa is a heavenly comfort for the both of them, a perpetually anticipating routine in their lives.

 

Right now, Jaime is now scrolling through their choices meanwhile Brienne is in the kitchen waiting for the popcorn to be ready form the microwave. He smiles when he hears Brienne softly sing to herself; her voice isn’t as practiced as singers but its soft, lulling, and charming in its own way.

 

“How about The Martian?” He shouts at her.

 

“Alright!” The blonde replies.

 

Jaime walks in the kitchen as sees her, for some reason, he’s dumbstruck at the sight of Brienne. She’s wearing his sweater that featured his football team, in faded maroon and she’s wearing grey cotton shorts that give him a glimpse of her mile long legs. Her shirt blonde hair is unruly; when she tilted her chin up and glances at him, her blue eyes did its signature twinkle. Every single time she looks at him they always do _that_. Jaime knows he will never tire of this, of her, of the quiet bubble they’ve created for themselves.

The radio bled a gentle ballad, fitting for their situation and he took it as a sign.

 

“Let’s dance.” Jaime announces, holding one hand one and hallway to a bow as though they are in a ball.

 

Brienne regarded him with an amused stare. Red paints her cheeks prettily and her mouth forms a simper. “Oh don’t be silly. We _both_ can’t dance.” She emphasized but lays her hand on his open palm anyways. In a sense she’s still horridly naïve, that she’ll follow him anywhere he’ll take her if Jaime would only smile like that.

 

He brings her closer, placing his other hand on her waist and they shuffle in their songs, humming softly to the song gently serenading them into a romantic situation. He drinks in how at ease she is, how radiant and fittingly jovial she is with him. It strikes him _then_ that if the world outside of this was obliterated, he wouldn’t noticed, not now when Brienne snuggles closer, cheek to cheek now, and she kisses his cheek.

Jaime wouldn’t give a damn about anything else if it doesn’t pertain to this heavenly creature in his arms, his grip tightens around her like he’s afraid she might slip away, fly away from him because he damn well knows he doesn’t deserve her.

 

The microwave orotundly alarms them of the popcorn.

 

Brienne pulls away, laughing when he pouts. “I have to get the popcorn now, Jaime.” She reasons and curls her hand on his arm.

 

“I have to marry you.” Jaime blurts out, as impulsive as he has been his entire life. He and Sansa had plans to reserve the entire restaurant that they met, a romantic sentiment no? But this, perhaps its even _more_ meaningful because only she can hear his heart filled confession because his heart has always been hers. They’re each other’s solitude, stronghold, and whatever is synonymous with fortress, comfort.

 

“I was beginning to wonder when you’ll propose.” She laughs.

 

He tilts his head to one side. “How did you know I’d propose to you?” He wonders but there’s a surge of ecstasy in knowing she waited for this moment. That they’ve both yearned for this gateway to heaven, to constantly feeling immortal by her side.

 

She rested her arms on his broad shoulders letting it dangle. “Sansa couldn’t look me in the eye without tearing up.” She said with a grin, her cheeks denting and she’s positively radiant. “Go get the ring and bend on one knee. I want the traditional way of proposing, though yours was adorably idiotic.”

 

Jaime nearly trips on the barren floor and even his feet in getting the ring. He tore at the top section of his closet and held the velvet square box tightly. Out of breath, his baggy sweatpants threatening to move lower, he clumsily bends his one knee and opens the lid of the little box.

“Brienne Tarth, you absolutely bane and love of my life, will you marry me?” His voice is tremulous at best. He tries to showcase his love, devotion, utter dedication in his declaration. He’d promise Sansa a speech of epically romantic proportions but this satisfies Brienne enough.

 

She had her hand clamped on her mouth, brilliantly bright blue eyes shining with tears, and genuine awe of the ring. Maybe that’s how Jaime sees her too. “Jai-Jaime, of _course_ I’ll marry you.” She stutters out, grabbing him by the shoulders to haul him to stand. She then, with shaking hands, take the ring out and slip it on her finger. “Gods, I love you, you big oaf.” She cried as she rains his all over his face.

 

“I love you too, my wench of a wife.”

 


	2. When You Fall, You Fall Hard

**_i. In which Jon regrets befriending dysfunctional people_ **

Arya wouldn’t be advantageous in his dilemma. If his problem involved gym schedules, or a violent solution, the little brunette would be on speed dial. But _this,_ he and Sansa’s sister would sit for hours and not come up with a plan.

Theon is out of the list. It’s downright laughable asking the Greyjoy because Jon could hear his suggestions already. _Johnny boy is proposing? I hope it isn’t because she’s expecting!_ He’d then fetch beers for them both and proceed to explicitly narrate the sordid things he did over the weekend; the sort that could make nuns faint.

Robb? Jon straightens a bit with that notion but returns to slacking. (He only ever has a socially acceptable posture when Mrs Stark is regarding him with those cold eyes and pinched frown.) He would be the best option, mind you, but asking your best friend’s opinion about his sister? It’s _beyond_ weird. Given the eldest Stark has been used to their relationship for eight years but still, this is elevating the level of awkwardness.

“Jon?”

He blinks, his vision narrowing to his girlfriend as he always does. “Yeah?”

“You’ve been staring at my cactus for two minutes. You don’t like it do you?” The redhead sighs, her hands cup around the red pot where the spiky plant is in. “Maybe I should buy an aerial plant then? I’ve seen Aunt Lysa’s hanging plants and they’re wonderful.”

“Of course I like your cactus, love.” He answers, with a fond smile. It’s so adorable that she’s genuinely stressed out on decorating their apartment with plants. It’s all Jeyne’s fault. The brunette had gotten into aesthetic side of Pinterest and roped in Sansa.

It’s comical how they’re both having parallel existential crises and they don’t even notice the other’s distress.

Sansa scans the living room with her azure blue eyes glinting and she wore a critical expression. It’s an often look when she’s deciding on her next line of clothing or concept for the photo shoots. “I should call Jeyne. But thank you for weighing in. Oh, perhaps you could put this fella on your desk?” She asks so prettily that he finds himself nodding.

He almost wished the cactus can talk.

Maybe it can help him on how to propose to the most romantic person he’s ever met.

She brightens up at his agreement. Hopping of the stool of their kitchen, she walks to him, pressing a kiss on his cheek and giggles. “I know you only said yes because you love me.” She giggles into his ear.

He loosely holds her by the waist and rolls his eyes. “Do I? You’re the weirdo who gave her boyfriend a cactus. Maybe next time a rose, yeah? Make it romantic.” He suggests, absentmindedly pressing his lips on her clothed shoulder.

“But darling, it’s pragmatic! This cactus can live without water for two years.”

“Are you accusing me of being inadequate in handling another living thing? Ghost is my baby.”

At the mention of his name, the Siberian Husky looked up from his bone plush toy (a gift Sansa gave on his birthday). He tilts his head to the side.

Musical laughter blesses his ears. She kisses him again, this time on his nose. “I’ll remember that comment for future reference.” She said before ambling to the living room where her prone is charging.

The conversation of Sansa and Jeyne ist lost to him. Her last statement is swirling in his head.

 _Future reference._ As in, like kids, right?

After finding out how shit his father is, abandoning his mother _while_ pregnant, well, he vowed to never love or have kids ever. Given, he was like thirteen when he said that, tear soaked cheeks, hugging mum with all his might.

Mum laughed and patted his back. “Is my son going to be a priest then?”

Jon slams his spoon down on the granite countertop; thankfully his plate of eggs and bacon are devoured. He didn’t see Sansa yelp and throw him a curious look over her shoulder. Scrambling out of the kitchen, he pulls out his phone out of his basketball shorts and proceeds to call the only reliable person in his disastrous circle of friends.

**_ii. Cookies and advice, please?_ **

Visiting Mum is a monthly thing and lucky his presence was not sudden as to raise suspicion. She lives in the serene portion of Winterfell, near town, enough back space for her gardening, and quiet enough. The woman has gone through hell and worse so she definitely deserves some mundane routines.

Lyanna sits on the large beige chair near the fireplace. She just placed the oatmeal cookies down on the wooden table. Like literally, it’s a trunk of some tree, polished and waxed. Sansa gave it to her as a house warming gift.

“How’s your life, Jon?” She asks, feels like an interview but she smiles; fond and soft.

He tugs on his grey jumper. “I-“ Fuck, his throat decides to drag this out longer than it should be. “I’m thinking of proposing to S-Sansa.” There, he pushed those words out of his mind and it fell on her lap.

Her spine elegantly straightens out and her pink mouth tilts upward in delight. She places her hand on her chest as though she just saw a puppy on the street. “Finally! I was thinking when in the Seven would you ask her. Sansa is such a woman, accomplished one. You’re so lucky to have her in the years that you did.” She smartly reminds him with a wag of her finger. “You asked for my ring ages ago. I believe it was after your third anniversary, yes?”

“Well, second actually.” Jon felt the heat creep to his cheeks. Gods he was weak for Sansa.

“Why now?”

He relaxes further on the sofa. It’s the same furniture when he was younger, he’d do his homework here, papers scattered with drooping eyes. “Our friends recently got married. And you know Sansa, she’s well, a romantic! I think helping Brienne with her wedding didn’t help tame her wants.”

Lyanna sighs. It’s a bit odd to see this fierce woman wear a soft expression because of love. The very thing that nearly tore her apart; she’s brave in the way she wants things nonetheless. “Brienne’s wedding was so magnificent. Gods, anyways, _yes,_ oh gosh, Sansa deserves nothing but the best.” She claps her hands and sits beside him, patting his thigh. “I’m so happy that you’re with someone you love, truly, completely.”

Jon detected wistfulness in her tone. He wonders if she still wanted it, despite everything. “I really am.” He glances at her, bashful it would make the Maiden proud. “Could you help me out?”

“My darling son, of course I’ll help you!” Lyanna heartily acquiesces and she kisses his forehead.

Jon relaxes in her hold like the times when he thought her hug could solve anything.

He still thinks that, like the mama’s boy he is.  

**_iii. Arya is a better spy than he is_ **

It took a week for someone to notice he was scheming. Thank the gods it wasn’t Robb, Jon still conscientiously makes sure to not mention his relationship with his best friend. To avoid Robb's usual reply of "I do not want to know anything of your happy relationship. If you guys are happy then I'll be blissfully ignorant then!"

Jon always hangs out with Arya after the gym. They sat across each other, cold beer and sandwiches on her tables. He waited twenty minutes for his and he is _starving._ But the first words of Arya make his stomach drop as did his appetite.

“I heard from Hot Pie that you’ve made a peculiar reservation in his dad’s restaurant.” She started, picking at the greasy fries beside her post gym snack.

“Oh?”

She narrows her eyes, scrutinizing each twitch of his body or the way he drops his gaze, his fingers flattens on the table. “His dad owns one of the most romantic restaurants around for miles. And I know  it isn’t your anniversary because Sansa hasn’t badgered me to walk around the mall for days for the perfect outfit.” She answers, a mocking smile as she steals his chips. “ _And,_ just before we went to the gym, you asked me for Sansa’s finger size for rings. Like Jesus Christ Christopher, might as well be out with.”

He groans and she laughs. “You’re proposing, I take it?” She goads further, poking at his arm, giggling at his reddened face.

Jon nods, defeated and Arya claps her hands and lets out a victorious shout. She was shushed by the waiter but she stuck her tongue out. “A romantic set up, okay that’s a start. What else you got on your sleeve?”

“Standard stuff, like bouquet of flowers. Extravagant dinner course then a candlelight dance beneath the moonlight.” Jon raises his head form his snack and sees Arya intently listen. “Wh-Why aren’t you the joke machine right now? They’re cheesy as fuck aren’t they?”

“They are but Sansa would love that, to be honest. Did you come up with that by yourself?”

“Mum helped me out a lot.” Jon admits and Arya smiles in approval.

“Thank gods for that woman.” Arya raises her glass of cold beer. “To your gifted mother and my sister’s happiness.”

“What about my happiness?”

She rolls her eyes. “Sansa is my goddamn sister you moron. Obviously her happiness outweighs that of my best friend.”

Their glasses clank and they drink from it. “Ah, I’m dreading what you’ll say in your speech at the reception.” He deadpans. They both laugh.

“Hold on, Johnny! We gotta plan the proposal before you even think of your wedding day.”

**_iv. Romeo and Juliet, except more romantic and no one dies_ **

The dinner so far is spectacular. Hot Pie, it’s a worn out nickname but Jon thinks it’s his legal name, devised delicious courses. No doubt Arya slipped in notes on how to amp the romance.

Sansa dabs the corner of her mouth, after eating the last slice of her beef sirloin. “This is _so_ good. I would want more but I’m so full.” She pitifully says, reaching for her glass of red wine.

Jon frowns. His nerves are on _fire_ as it is because of his anxiety, fucking up his calm demeanour. “You are? But we’ll have lemon cakes for dessert?”

She perks up and he laughs. “I _always_ have time for heavenly lemon cakes, my sweet love.” And when the treat is served, in a layered tier tray, she feeds him one while he interlaces their free hands on the clothed table. “You spoil me too much, I’m afraid. First you bought me this expensive silk dress and now renting out the exclusive section only for us? Did you get the promotion, love?”

He looks at her now, without the ring on her finger. She’s already content with him, a constant glow on her that mothers have asked if they’re, you know, _expecting._ He blushes at that. “I’m just so in love with you, Sans.” He confesses, his thumb tracing the bump of her knuckles and revelling in the smoothness of her skin.

“And I love you, sweet love.” Sansa responds without a thought or hesitation. It’s a natural thing to be open with each other. Jon loves _this_ , affection as casual as breathing. Her face is lovely, with or without makeup. But it’s in the manner of love painted on her face; her azure eyes downright sparkling, her red coated mouth curving out of affection, and he could stare at her for forever.

“There’s a gazebo out in the back. Do you want to dance there?” Jon questions, uncertain after all these years.

She stands up, snatching the last lemon square and leads him there.

The stone bricked path was impossible to see at this time of night; possibly because the gods were bored that night and wanted some entertainment. So naturally, in the inclination of one of Jon’s most important moments, he tripped on an uneven brick. He stumbles to the ground face first and his knee broke the impact. He shouts in pain, clutching the site of injury, cursing the gods under his breath. He winces as the throb of pain intensifies when he sits upright.

Sansa kneels beside him, not minding that her fancy dress is dirtied by the grass and stupid rocks. “Gods, baby, it’s okay. We-“ She stops speaking and stares at his side.

Jon tries to arrange himself and stares at the twinkling sky. _Seriously?_ “Fuck is it that bad? Is it possible to break my knee?” He whines, feeling a bump on his slacks.

“Do-don’t be dramatic, love.” Sansa picks up a small velvet box. It must’ve slipped out of his pocket when he fell. Outside of the restaurant, she’s bathe din the moon’s wane light. Her aurburn hair flows down her back like a river of tamed flames, her skin like porcelain but he knows there is steel in her bones.

Now, her eyes are wide with various emotions, her glistened mouth falls open as she flips the box’s cover. She sees the ring. It isn’t anything like Jaime Lannister procured for his wife. It’s a princess cut ring but he had it modified so the diamond would resemble winter roses with golden vines wrapped around the shining jewel.

“I was going to propose after we romantically dance.” Jon grunts but holds her hand. "You more, romantic scene and I even selected some Italian music to set the mood."  

Sansa lets her hand cover her mouth but it seems as though she can’t keep her eyes away from the ring. “You’re already on your knee.” She lamely jested.

He releases her hand and cups her cheek, angling her closer to their foreheads touch. He’s so close he could count the faint freckles on her cheeks and nose. “Sansa Stark, you’re the love of my life. I love you in every sense of the word, maybe even more than that. We’ve built a life together. I have loved you my entire life and-“ He winces when he moves his injured knee.

“And?” She prompts, leaning on his large palm, letting her hair curtain on one of her slim shoulders.

“And it would be the best thing in the entire world if you’d be my wife. We could spend the rest of our lives in this miserable planet. At least at the end of each day, I’ll get to see you and call you my dear wife.” He urges, his eyes not leaving hers for even a moment.

Then, her smile is the brightest he’s ever seen. She squeals and hugs him tight. With a gentle nudge and a gesture to the bump on his knee, she eases away. “I love you so much. And yes, I’ll marry you.” She wears the ring. It’s a perfect fit and a sign.

Jon sniffles a little but he hides it as a cough. Sansa is too busy staring at her ring finger now, wearing the same bedazzled beam. It’s an endearing picture really, if not for his damn bruised knee. “Uh, Sans?”

“Hmm?” She hums, raising her hand a little higher to truly catch the diamond’s wink.

“I think I need ice on my knee. You know, because I fell.” Jon stated.

The redhead gasps and springs into action. His arm is slung on her shoulders. “We’ll dance when we’ll practice for our first dance, love don’t you worry.” Sansa says and presses a kiss on his cheek.

Jon groans. “Ah fuck, your siblings will never let this one down. I’m going to be bullied for the rest of my life.” He whines.

“I’ll tell them you tripped on your shoelace then.”

“You’re not helping. How about I heroically fought off muggers?” Jon suggested.

Sansa laughs, head thrown back and pearls of laughter like honey dripping down her mouth. “My brave knight, I love you so.”

Jon eases himself on a nearby chair. Tapping his shoe, he waits for the valet to bring his car to the front. “You’re not going with my story are you?”

Sansa snorts. “Oh gods no. It would be excellent material for my wedding speech. Imagine this, ‘My husband literally _fell_ for me!’ Comedy gold.”

“You’re a horrible wife then, bullying your husband.”

“Too bad you’re stuck with me for life.” Sansa dramatically sighs.

 _It doesn’t sound so bad now._ Jon thinks, seeing Sansa admire the ring for the umpteenth time in an hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rlly curious on what u think my dudes


End file.
